


It’d Been Three Weeks

by PropShopHannah



Series: Universe: What happened just after EOS [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Girl Power, Healing, Scars, Shameless Smut, Smut, fussy fae bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PropShopHannah/pseuds/PropShopHannah
Summary: [Part 1: Angst; Part 2: Healing; Part 3: Smut.] Elide Lochan thinks she has no skills to offer her queen. So when an opportunity arises to make an exchange with a violent fae male for information on Maeve's whereabouts, Elide takes it. And makes the ultimate, heartbreaking sacrifice that nearly breaks her and Lorcan. In the aftermath of the deal she made, and the wounds she incurred, Elide and Lorcan must navigate their damaged relationship, the sacrifices they've both made in the same of their queens, and ultimately decide whether or not they can be together.





	1. It'd Been Three Weeks

It’d been three weeks.

Three weeks since Elide had come back to the ship at two in the morning. Three weeks since she’d gotten the information they’d needed to save Aelin. Three weeks since she’d come back smelling like another male, since she’d screamed at him that it had been her decision and that she’d do it again for her queen.

It’d been three weeks since he and Gavriel had gone with Rowan to save Aelin and then hunted down the male who’d left his scent all over Elide. And tore him limb from fucking limb. 

It’d been three weeks since Lorcan had been able to think straight.

 

Lorcan massaged the bruises on his face. He was sitting on the stairs to the quarterdeck. He’d told himself he was on watch for the night, but he didn’t need to be. Once they’d sailed close enough to the Terrasen coast, the witches Asterin and Briar had come to guard the ship as they sailed along the continent. Somewhere high above him flew Briar. And Asterin? Lorcan didn’t give a shit where the blonde haired witch was, not after the beating she’d given him when she’d seen and scented Elide.

He didn’t blame her though.

He’d welcomed the beating, telling the other fae males to leave them be as he got down on his knees and let the witch pound him.

Three to the face. Three to the stomach. Three to the groin.

He’d deserved every one of them.

The night Elide had come back to the ship, Lorcan had slipped into a rage so feral, so primal he’d lost control. Rowan and Gavriel had had to knock him out. He’d woken up chained to the mast with a gash across his forehead and Rowan telling him that if he didn’t calm down he’d suck the oxygen out of the air and lower Lorcan’s heart rate to keep him in a coma.

Lorcan didn’t remember losing control. Only knew that he had.

That day, they’d made port at the small island just before dawn, and had all gone out by midday to gather information. He’d gone to find his contacts and see if any of them had knowledge on where Maeve had docked her cloaked ship.

Elide had barely spoken to him in the month they’d spent tracking Maeve. Although he’d always kept an eye on her, he never thought she’d manage to slip away from him, Rowan, or Gavriel.

Lorcan had made it back to the ship by nightfall, having gotten little to no information on his old queen. Rowan and Gavriel had had similar luck. When they realized Elide hadn’t made it back yet, they’d all gone out looking. When it got late, they’d decided that she might have made her way to the ship, so they’d headed back to the docks.

She’d shown up a few minutes later.

Limping, hair a mess, clothes disheveled, lips swollen, bruises in the shape of fingers along her jaw and any exposed skin, a look in her eyes like she was trying to convince herself that she’d made the right decision. She had been trembling. But that’s not what had enraged Lorcan.

No, what had enraged the Warrior had been the smell on her. Coating her. 

Staining her. 

The scent of an aggressive fae male whose cruelty was second only to Cairn’s. That reek, coupled with the faint scent of Elide’s blood–– _ that _ had been what set him off. That had been what called the a rage and blackness from so deep within him that it had caused him to forget who and what he was.

Pure, unadulterated blackness had seethed from him. Seethed from a well of magic so dark it could only have come from the rotting soul of Hellas himself.

And then the world, his mind, had vanished. Yielded wholly to the Darkness.

What Lorcan did remember about losing control, was that he was eventually able to keep it together long enough to help them save Aelin. And that when she was safe in Rowan’s arms, both he and Gavriel had hunted down the male who’d fucked Elide in exchange for information on Maeve’s whereabouts.

They’d taken their time ripping his limbs off. 

Enjoying the bloodletting.

When they’d returned, his magic was still thrumming with feral rage, and an impulsion to protect. He’d nearly killed two crew members for being too close to Elide’s door, and had Gavriel not been within earshot, Lorcan probably would have ripped the men’s throats out with his teeth.

Elide hadn’t opened her door for him.

She’d refused to answer him–even when he’d nearly brought the damn door down. He’d known she had been in her room. He’d heard the splash of water, the scrubbing of skin, had  smelt the fear, the panic, the disgust she felt for herself. He’d needed to make it stop. Needed to make it better like he’d never needed anything before in his life.  _ Fussy fae bullshit _ be damned.

He’d known his behavior wasn’t helping.

But he couldn’t stop it.

When Gavriel had come to pull him away from the two crew members, she’d finally opened her door.

He’d rounded on her then. Taking her in. The robe she’d worn tightly around herself. The water in her hair. The bruises. The abrasions from where she’d scrubbed too hard and broken the skin. The exposed, beautiful ankle with its mangled scar tissue and misshapen bone. The cold steel in her eyes. His beautiful, tiny Elide. His Elide–no. Not  _ his _ Elide. 

He’d yelled and rounded on her too fast. Moved too fast.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” he’d roared around Gavriel’s shoulder as the male placed himself between them.

To her credit, Elide hadn’t even flinched.

“I got our queen back,” she’d said venomously. Too venomously.

“WHAT DID HE TAKE?” He’d known the answer. Known he didn’t want to hear it. Not in a hundred lifetimes did he want to hear it, to have to think about it. But he’d needed to hear it. Needed to hear that she’d let this happen. Let that male touch her with permission.

“Only what I offered,” Elide had spit back.

Lorcan couldn’t quite remember what he’d said to the girl then, only that it had something to do with Aelin not ever being worth it. How could one woman ever be worth giving up what Elide had given up? Maiden head or no, to whore yourself for information. For some gods-damned queen.

And that male. That piece of rutting shit she’d yielded herself to––stories of the cruelty he’d unleashed upon women gave even him nightmares. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be one of them, to be Elide.  _ His _ Elide–

Dark magic had leaked out of him and gone straight for the girl. Checking. Making sure she had been whole, uninjured in any vital ways. He’d traced the scent of the male. Felt where his hands had been, how hard he’d held her down, how hard he’d held her to leave bruises like that. Traced the scent of the male’s skin, sweat, saliva,  _ and–– _

The last thing Lorcan had heard her yell at him was, “It’s my body, Lorcan. My decision. I’d do it again to save her.”

_ –and _ there, on her shoulders, her breasts, all inside her thighs, lower… bite marks. He’d not only brutally fucked her, he’d bitten her. Scented her. Left his mark so deep it would be weeks before his trace was fully gone from her. If it ever truly left.

He’d known.

That bastard had scented Lorcan on the girl, and he’d left a message only Lorcan would find. Bastard. He hadn’t killed him slowly enough. Hadn’t let the male suffer nearly enough. Elide.  _ His _ Elide––nothing would ever be enough.

Lorcan had stopped fighting then.

Stopped fighting because... because she was right. He had no claim on her. What little claim he’d thought he’d possessed had caused this. He didn’t need her. She was a nuisance at best. He didn’t need to worry about her stupid leg, or her safety. She was a grown woman and she could sleep with any man, fae, or beast she chose.

“You’re right. It’s none of my business who you whore yourself out for.”

He could’ve sworn something like hurt had flashed in her eyes, but he’d told himself he didn’t care. He’d turned and left, walking down the hall and stopping after he’d turned the corner, just out of sight.

He’d scented her rage at his words, had heard her ask Gavriel inside her room for help. Heard Gavriel’s intake of breath when he’d fully beheld the bite marks, the bruises...

Looking out across the dark, rolling ocean, Lorcan cringed at the words he’d said to Elide three weeks ago in that hallway. She was anything but a whore, anything but perfect to him. He was the whore. He’d willingly tied his life to Maeve for centuries. Whored his sword for her wars and cruelties––would’ve whored his body to her had she not rejected the idea. There was a time Lorcan would have willingly fucked anything for Maeve’s safety. And he...he’d had the audacity to call Elide the whore.

He shook his head.

When Lorcan had heard her wince when Gavriel had touched the first of the bite marks to heal them, something in Lorcan had broken in that hallway. Broken do fully he’d thought the whole ship had heard it.

He’d stood guard at Elide’s door every night since.

Tried to find the words, the courage, to apologize to her every day since. And failed. Just as he’d failed to protect her that night. He was an embarrassment. A waste. Outside of killing, there were very few things in life that Lorcan had ever thought he’d gotten right. Elide was one of those thing––or at least she had been until he failed her, too.

The truth was he didn’t care that she’d slept with another male to save Aelin. He’d slept with plenty of women over the centuries, it would be stupid to think she should only sleep with him. What Lorcan cared about was the abuse. That someone had bedded Elide and not worshipped her. Not made sure every moment was pure ecstasy, everything she could ever want. She’d probably never want anyone again after what had been done to her. She may have given consent, but that male certainly hadn’t been gentle– _ had she asked him to stop? _

Fresh, blinding rage coursed through his veins like hot lava. He pushed down the images. Pushed down at how tiny and frightened she must have been. At the dried tear stains that had been obvious on her face when she’d made it back to the ship––

A creak in the deck drew Lorcan’s thoughts away from the darkness. He looked up to find Elide standing just a few feet away. 

He straightened. 

She smelt almost normal. Not like she had the first few days after they’d gotten Aelin back. After–

“I’m sorry,” Lorcan said. “I can leave.” He rose from where he’d been sitting on the stairs.

“Please don’t,” Elide said. The male froze. She hadn’t so much as looked at him in the past few weeks. Not after she’d found out he’d been doing her laundry. Not after she’d found out he’d been the one who’d left fresh soaps and hot baths in her room. Not when she’d learned that he’d berated and threatened the cook to fry the fish just how she liked it. Not even when he’d left the healing salves in her room for the marks he knew she hadn’t let Gavriel heal.

He didn’t deserve any kindness from her. She began walking to the other end of the deck. He blinked.

“I’m sorry.” 

Elide stopped and turned to look at him, waiting. She smelt like rage and tinge of...what was that? Relief? Lorcan swallowed hard. Whatever had broken in him three weeks ago was breaking again. Like a fresh wound rend open.

“I–” he looked out over the ocean. “I could never think you a whore, Elide.” He hated the word, hated the way he saw her flinch at it in his periphery.

“I’m not,” she spat, voice breaking. “I’m  _ not _ a whore.” He looked at her, at the hurt on her face, and the silver lining her eyes.  _ Fuck _ , he was such an idiot. Such a gods-damned rutting idiot.

He didn’t think. Just––moved. 

Her shoulders, her whole body, sagged into him as soon as his arms were around her. “I’m sorry, Elide. I’m so sorry. You’re not a whore, gods you could never be a whore. What you did was brave, so rutting brave, and I was so rutting stupid. I’m sorry.”

“You called me a whore, Lorcan. How could you. You— _ I _ –” Elide fisted her hands in his shirt and tried, and failed, to fight her tears.

“Hate me, Elide. You can hate me. For what I said to you. For calling Maeve. Your hate I can handle,” Lorcan said, “but this, this feeling. When you ignore me,  _ fuck. _ You had every right to ignore me.” Lorcan got down on one knee in front of the girl. Still holding her close, but forcing her to look at him. “Yell at me, scream at me, hate me, but gods please don’t ignore me. I can’t take that.”

“I don’t care what you can’t take, Lorcan.” His insides cracked, shattered further. “You hurt me,” she said. “You hurt me when I needed...you...hurt me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so rutting sorry.”

“But _ I _ hurt you.” Lorcan froze. No. no, no, no. 

“No. This was my fault,” he begged. Actually  _ begged _ .

“No, it wasn’t. You shouldn’t have called me a whore, but I shouldn’t have…,” Lorcan watched as Elide,  _ his  _ Elide, failed again to master herself. “Maybe I am a whore.”

Lorcan swore. She most certainly was not. She was perfect. Had always been perfect. Would always be perfect.

“You’re not a whore, Elide. You are brave beyond imagining. What you did to save your queen...I’ve fought on many battlefields alongside great Warriors, and I have never––in all my existence––known anyone with the courage to do what you did to save your queen.”

He smoothed the hair back from around her face. Elide swallowed hard and looked at him. He wiped her tears with his thumbs. He couldn’t stop touching her. He needed to touch her. To know she was all right, that this was indeed real.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t be known as Aelin’s whore. That ballads won’t be written about the Whore of Perranth.” If anyone was going to be known as Aelin’s whore, Lorcan was pretty sure it would be Lysandra. She’d given up her identity to parade around as Aelin for fuck sake. But he didn’t need to remind Elide that.

“You are no more a her whore, than I was Maeve’s.”

“You’ve slept with people for information?” Elide said, cocking her head to the side. 

“I’ve done far worse. The whoring I did for Maeve...I did horrible, horrible things. There are stains on my soul that will never come out. Never be clean. But I do not regret them. I do not regret them because I did them out of loyalty and duty to my queen. Just as you did for yours. We are not so different you and I.”

And that was the truth. The truth to why he’d broken so fully in that hallway, so completely. He knew what he was. Knew  _ what _ it was to live with the things he’d done for his queen. And Elide… he’d never wanted that for her. Never wanted those kinds of burdens for anyone, but especially not for her.

Elide wiped the tears from his face. Lorcan blinked at her. He didn’t know he’d started crying. Didn’t know if he’d ever cried.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered. Her words were his undoing.

He wrapped himself around the girl and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t care if they were seen, if  _ he _ was seen crying on the deck. He loved this girl. This woman.

For the first time in Lorcan Salvaterre’s long life, he knew that it was to love.

Hours passed. Lorcan sat with her, tucked safely in his lap, on the stairs to the quarterdeck. Just before she fell asleep, he said, “I’ll kill anyone who writes or sings a ballad that is anything but praise for the bravery you showed in the fight to save your queen.”

Elide Lochan smiled into his neck and fell asleep.

 

***

 

Two weeks later, Lorcan awoke to a scream and a pulse of power in the middle of the night. He was immediately on his feet. Alert.

After he and Elide had made up, he’d taken to sleeping in her room. Not in the bed, of course, but in a chair between the bed and door. He scanned the room. Everything was as it should be. Elide lay sleeping in the exact same position she’d been in when he’d tucked her into bed earlier.

Yes, tucked her. He hated to think that Aelin had been right to call fae males  _ fussy _ , but that was among the nicer words for what had overcome him the moment Elide had returned to the ship five weeks ago.

He left the room and headed into the hallway. Gavriel was waiting. 

“Does Rowan need help?” Lorcan asked. Gavriel shrugged, looking up as if he could see through the ceiling to the captain’s quarters above.

Ever since they’d rescued Aelin, they’d discovered she’d developed a fear of the dark and of enclosed spaces. He didn’t blame her. When they’d found her, she’d been bound, gagged, and lying naked in her own filth inside an iron coffin. Maeve had kept her wounds from healing, but hadn’t let the infection spread enough to kill her. A rare form of torture.

After she’d awoken in a room below deck the first night, they realized she couldn’t be inside the ship. So they’d asked the captain to vacate his quarters. He’d obliged, but more for fear that Aelin would set his ship on fire than from fear of Rowan–who’d been barely able contain his instincts long enough to demanded the captain yield the room.

If Lorcan was fussy, then there was no word strong enough for what had happened to Rowan. But he’d been better lately. The captain’s quarters had seemed to help. It was the only room on board with three walls of windows and a view. She’d woken up the first few nights, but hadn’t set any more fires. Yet. Hadn’t set any more fires,  _ yet _ .

Lorcan followed Gavriel up the stairs and onto the main deck. They knew Rowan could sense them there, they’d give him a few minutes. If he needed anything, he’d come out and ask. This had become their nighttime routine since they’d gotten Aelin back.

A few minutes passed, and Rowan did not emerge. 

Lorcan and Gavriel made their way below deck, but not before each scanned the horizon. Dawn was a few hours off, and Asterin had promised to bring a healer by the name of Yrene Towers at first light. A healer was a valuable commodity during war, and Aedion hadn’t been able to spare her skills when he was fighting armies on two fronts. Not when Aelin insisted she was fine. 

Lorcan snorted to himself as he settled back into his chair in Elide’s room. Only Aelin could spend over a month literally rotting away in her own flesh and filth and declare that she was fine. 

_ Fine my ass _ , Lorcan thought. But he couldn’t deny that for someone who’d endured what she had, she hadn’t broken. Hadn’t allowed it to take her hope. Beaten? Yes. Starved? Of course. Happy to join in the bloodletting of Cairn and Maeve? “Always” had been her exact word. He and Gavriel had both thought Rowan was going to stop her. She could barely stand let alone walk. Couldn’t see worth a damn from being locked in that coffin for so long...but Lorcan had handed her his knife, Rowan had guided her to where Gavriel had pinned Maeve to the ground, and Aelin had lifted that knife and stabbed the queen. Over and over and over.

“How many times was that?” Aelin had asked Maeve. “Pity. If you don’t keep count, then we have to start over.” A bit dramatic, maybe, but Lorcan understood why. When Maeve had started counting, Aelin hadn’t stopped stabbing at ten. She’d just kept going. And when Maeve was finally dead, Aelin had moved on to Cairn.

Fenrys had held him down, and he hadn’t lasted very long before he’d started counting and begging. Aelin had just smiled, enjoying every gods-damned minute of his suffering. It was all rather poetic.

Aelin had been nearly broken by Maeve and Cairn. Nearly–but not fully. She was stronger than she looked–he glanced at Elide–they both were.

Lorcan must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew the sun was out and Elide’s mouth was pressed against his cheek.

Lorcan went taught and loose at once.They’d kissed a few times in the last two weeks, but it was always quiet and private and dark. He hadn’t dared initiate it either. He’d let her come to him. Let her set the pace.

He scented the air. A hint of female arousal. Interesting.

“When did you become so forward?” he asked, moving his face to claim a quick peck to her mouth before moving away.

“When I woke up and decided I needed to get dressed and that you were in my way,” she said. Lorcan smiled and moved to the door.

“I’ll meet you on deck?” She nodded, and he left. They’d seen one another naked before when they’d traveled across Erilea earlier in the year. But he knew why she was so self conscious now. Knew what she might be hiding beneath the long sleeves and pants.

Lorcan made his way to the main deck of the ship to see if the witch had come. He fully intended on forcing the healer to take a look at Elide as soon as she was done with the queen.

He found Rowan hovering near Aelin who was lying in her usual spot in the middle of the main deck. She wore a rolled up pair of pants and a typical binding around her breasts. 

Since getting out of the iron coffin, Aelin’s magic still hadn’t fully recovered. Her wounds weren’t yet healing as they should be, even with Gavriel and Rowan’s help. But she was getting there. She’d taken to spending most days lying on the deck, soaking up the sun’s light. Growing stronger with each hour. Elide joined her every day.

They talked about everything, catching up on the missed years. The only topics that seemed to be off limits were what had happened to Aelin when she’d been with Maeve, and how Elide had gotten the information that saved Aelin’s life. Rowan had thought it best not to tell the queen unless she asked, afraid it might upset her. Elide acted as if it never happened, but Lorcan knew she didn’t want to talk about it. Not with her queen, not yet.

A boom of wings sounded, and a few minutes later a sky-blue wyvern carrying the blond haired witch and the healer, landed near the prow. Lorcan angled himself between the witch and Elide, who was lying down next to Aelin.

Fenrys and Gavriel had offered to help the witch and the healer down from the Wyvern, and to Lorcan’s surprise, the witch had taken Fenrys’s hand. Interesting. 

After everyone was introduced, and the healer explained how she’d once been helped by Celaena, she moved to assess Aelin.

“If you don’t want to see my breasts, I suggest you males go find other things to do,” Aelin said just before Yrene began removing her bindings.


	2. Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorcan and Elide have begun to heal their broken relationship, but can Elide get over what she did to save her queen? While lying on the deck, next to a wounded Aelin and a knowing Asterin, Elide discovers the strength of her own heart and that some scars never heal–those whose who carry them just get stronger.

Elide Lochan was lying with her eyes closed next to her queen on the main deck of the ship. She wore long sleeves and pants to cover what was left of the bruises and marks that peppered her skin. The evidence of what she’d done.

She huffed a sigh. Both Fenrys and Gavriel had made themselves scarce when Aelin’s bindings had come off, but not Lorcan. Elide didn’t need to open her eyes to know that the fae male hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d been standing. He was like her nose or her ears. She didn’t need to see him to know exactly where he was.

_Typical,_ Elide thought, _for Lorcan to hover just because Asterin is near._

“Fussy bastards aren’t they,” Aelin said from beside her. 

“Does the mothering ever end?” Elide said, eliciting a snort from Asterin who was now standing closer to her and Aelin than Lorcan.

“I’ll let you know.” 

The mid morning sun was warm on her skin.

Aelin muttered a curse that had Elide opening her eyes and sitting up. She looked over at Rowan to see if he wanted her spot next to the queen. “Rowan is fine right where he is,” Aelin said when she saw where Elide’s eyes had gone. She reached for Elide’s hand as if to offer _her_ comfort. “It’s just a little salve and– _ouch!_ ”

Elide looked back at Aelin, lacing their fingers together and holding tight.

Cairn had whipped Aelin’s back only that one time on the beach. The rest of the time he’d whipped her chest, or branded her with hot iron. He’d done horrible, unspeakable things. Aelin’s entire front–from face to feet–was a mangled mess of meat and dried blood. Gavriel and Rowan had been able to close most of the wounds that had left muscle and bone exposed, but neither were trained in the kind of healing Aelin needed. The kind of healing that would erase the scars from across her beautiful face and body. That would put her back together.

Elide wondered if the scars would ever be gone, even when they were no longer visible. She looked at their joined hands and squeezed.

_ Worth it _ , she thought.  _ Aelin was worth it. _

She watched Yrene move down Aelin’s body applying salve and magic as she went. She stopped to work on one of Aelin’s knees that had been brutally broken.

“Whoever put this bone back together did a decent job,” Yrene said, running her hands over the joint as if it allowed her to see beneath the skin.

“Yes, Gavriel does fantastic work,” Aelin said, wincing when Yrene applied her magic, “but Westfall could still beat me in a foot race.” 

Gavriel barked a laugh from where he stood near the prow of the ship making friends with Asterin’s wyvern.

“Sorry to disappoint you, your majesty,” Yrene said. “The King’s Hand is up and running these days. Between me and you,” another wince, “it couldn’t happen fast enough for either of us. I’ve never had a patient who bitched more.”

Aelin tried to laugh, to look like she wasn’t in pain. Elide squeezed her hand.

“Pity we can’t leave those scars on your face,” Asterin said, stretching out on the deck next to them. This time, Aelin did laugh. “I think your cousin would throw a shit fit if he saw them. Seemed to think it worth the effort to send the Thirteen off scouring the countryside for the expensive ingredients Yrene couldn’t get in the war camps. Said you’d be pissed if you found out he’d had the manpower to spare and hadn’t tried to ensure that you come back to him just as pretty as when you left.”

A thin ring of silver lined Aelin’s eyes, but she hid it with a cunning smile. “It’s about time my cousin finally did something for me for a change. It would be a pity to make my triumphant return only to have to play second fiddle to the beauty of the Thirteen.” Even Lorcan laughed at that.

“Tell me, healer,” Asterin said. “To what extent can you heal branding marks like those?” she gestured to the ones that formed the words _fire-breathing bitch queen_ across Aelin’s stomach.

“Yes, do tell,” Aelin said. “I got this one slapped on me after I lost at cards on a drunken night in the slums.”

“Old or new, I can take care of it,” Yrene said. “Hard to do if you’re not the best. But since  _ someone _ gave me the money I needed to learn from the best, I am now the best.”

“Told you all I know a good investment when I see one,” Aelin said. The healer dipped her chin to the queen who winced at something Yrene was doing to the bone of her knee. She squeezed Elide’s hand.

_ I’d do it again _ , Elide thought.  _ I’d endure every horrible second again if it meant saving her.  _

Elide felt Asterin’s eyes on her, but when she looked up, the witch was carrying on the conversation as if she knew they needed to keep talking.

“What if the brand is over a hundred years old?”

The healer shrugged. “Skin is skin. Burns and melts the same. Even on witches.”

Elide looked over at Asterin not caring if it gave her away. She’d heard the story about her witchling, about the brand the Blackbeak Matron had given her. Asterin met her eyes and smiled at her. A smile so beautiful it could have started wars.

“Why don’t you show us,” Aelin said.

Elide’s head whipped back to her queen. Rowan loosed a warning grown, but not for Asterin, for Aelin. She ignored him. “Come on. It’s no fun if I’m the only one lying half naked on the deck.” A cruel thing to ask, maybe. But Elide understood. Understood the pain behind it, why Aelin needed to see and–and Asterin was already untucking her shirt, stuffing it up under her arms.

Elide looked between the two as Aelin’s grip on her hand tightened, breathing shallowed. That silver in her eyes close to spilling over.

“Feast your eyes ladies,” Aelin said.

“And gentlemen,” Asterin said, undoing the last of the buttons on her trousers and pulling them down enough to reveal the brand across her lower abdomen. “It’s not every day a witch takes her clothes off and asks for nothing in return.”

Asterin winked at Elide who gaped at the horrible brand on her stomach. “Got this slapped on me after a drunken night in a small river town in the Wastes.”

“You lose at cards, too?” Aelin said.

“No, darts.” The women laughed.

A moment passed.

“I can get rid of that. If you want,” Yrene said quietly. Elide watched as pain flooded Asterin’s eyes. The witch didn’t try to hide it. Elide knew she hated the brand. Hated the monster that had put it there. But for over a hundred years, that scar had been a reminder of the best and worst day of her life, and Elide wasn’t sure Asterin knew how to live without it. Wasn’t sure if Asterin _wanted_ to live without it.

“Thank you,” Aelin whispered, looking away from them all. Elide watched her queen swallow hard. And the look on her face, the look on Asterin’s face–

“I got this after a drunken horse race in Suria,” Elide said, pulling up her pant leg to expose her mangled ankle. “Blacked out, and would’ve fallen right out of the saddle, but my foot caught in the stirrup. Beast dragged me for miles. Had no idea until I woke up the next day. Horrible headache.”

They laughed again. But the sound was of a different kind. Not the laughter of the truly cheerful, but the laughter found by those who had seen and live through many darknesses. The laughter of survivors and fighters. Of those who would always be healing, those who would always carry scars.

Elide reached for Asterin’s hand and laced her finger through it. 

_ One of each _ , she thought.  _ I am one of each.  _ We _ are one of each. _

A moment passed.

“Where did you get that?” Aelin said to Elide. She followed her queen’s gaze to her mangled ankle. At first she didn’t know what Aelin was talking about, but then she saw it. A bite mark on the inside of her knee that she hadn’t let Gavriel heal because the spot had felt too intimate at the time.

Rowan moved in closer. If Aelin had had the strength to sit up, Elide was pretty sure her queen would have launched herself at Lorcan.

“Lorcan didn’t do it,” Elide said. Aelin’s eyes shot back to her.

“Who?”

Elide felt Asterin squeeze her hand and move a bit closer. Elide took a deep breath.

“One of Maeve’s guards,” Elide said. Aelin snarled. “Human or fae, males are the same. They’re all willing to wage wars and give up secrets to anyone with big breasts and a pretty face.” Elide waited. Waited for the words to sting her eyes, for the memories of that evening to flood back with horrible clarity. 

It didn’t. 

She’d thought she would cry when she finally spoke the words, thought it would be harder to say them out loud, but… it wasn’t.

Aelin was silent. Ghost white and silent.

“I knew what he was, what he could offer as soon as I saw him. He was a mark, and I made a choice. And I do not regret it. Not one moment of it.”

A strangled cry escaped Aelin. The silver that had lined her eyes all morning slipped.

“You know why I don’t regret it?” Elide said. “Because you, Aelin.” 

Aelin pressed Elide’s hand to her heart.

“You’re worth it. And I’d do it all over again without a second thought if it meant saving you.” Elide leaned forward and kissed the back of Aelin’s hand. “My queen,” she whispered.

Elide hadn’t realized just how quiet the deck had gone. Just how loud the sound of the ocean waves might be as they gently rocked against the ship.

Miles. They were miles from shore, from land, from anyone. But the world didn’t seem quite so big, quite so far away. She’d spent most of her life locked in darkness in a tower, the happenings of the world only a few stories below. So close, yet so unreachable. But now…now it didn’t. Not as she sat in the warm sunlight with the two halves of her new family in each hand. Not with Lorcan only a few feet away.

A cooling darkness climbed up her back and poured over her shoulders–as if he knew she’d been thinking of him.

Elide had thought she’d be ashamed of what she’d done. What she’d sold to that male for information. A part of her wanted to be. But she just couldn’t find the strength to care. It was her body, her choice, stupid notions of propriety be damned. She didn’t feel bad at all. She’d saved Aelin. Saved her queen.

“Thank you,” Aelin whispered. Elide smiled, and it reached her eyes even as a few tears fell. She shook her head.

“Thank you,” Elide said. “For saving the girl they locked away. For saving the girl who never stopped looking for the light even when the darkness was so unending. Thank you for never forgetting.” Elide wasn’t sure who she was talking about.

But it didn’t matter.

Not really.

Asterin cleared her voice and wiped her own eyes with her free hand. “I hate to break up this festival of feelings, but I didn’t come all this way to sit around and compare sob stories. I’ve got gossip.”

All four women laughed, but Aelin said, “Asterin, you’ve been here all rutting morning, and you’re only _now_ telling us you have juice? Manon must truly be as stuffy a leader as she seems.”

“Funny you should bring up Manon,” Asterin began, “because she and Dorian had the most interesting encounter with a Stygian spider a few weeks ago.”

They spent the rest of the day on the deck listening to the stories Asterin brought from the war front. And when Aelin grew too exhausted to sit through anymore treatments, Yrene had moved on to see to Elide and Asterin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm Prop Shop Hannah on tumblr.


	3. Lory and Ely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been five weeks since they saved Aelin. Yrene Towers has left, but not before Elide had her heal the wounds she so desperately wanted to keep hidden from Lorcan. In the wake of her physical and emotional healing, Elide decides that she's done tiptoeing around this thing between her and Lorcan. But does Lorcan still want Elide after all she's been through?

Before Asterin left earlier that evening, she’d asked if Elide wanted to join the Thirteen in the small town where Aedion had set up his base of operations. She’d made a nice show of looking at Lorcan when she’d asked. Elide had politely declined, and said she’d join them when Aelin was ready.

They’d gone below decks, had eaten and bathed and were all turning in for the night.

Or at least that’s what Lorcan had thought before he walked into Elide’s room and found her sitting on the bed in what he could only describe as the most inappropriate excuse for a nightgown.

“You’re going to catch a cold in that. Where are your other nightgowns?” He moved toward the small dresser across the room.

Elide rolled her eyes and popped off the bed to lock the door. Lorcan froze. They never locked the door.

“I’m tired of this,” Elide said.

“I’ll tuck you in just as soon as I find–” Elide pressed herself against Lorcan’s chest. He was only wearing a thin shirt and trousers, and was pretty sure he could feel the soft curves of her breasts pressed against him. The too thin pieces of fabric were all that lay between them. Dangerous territory.

Lorcan took a deep breath––and smelt it.

Mixed between the fragrant soaps and lotions, Lorcan could smell the _want_ coating Elide’s scent. He could smell the fear, too.

She pressed a kiss to the exposed skin peeking out from where he’d left the top of his shirt unbuttoned––the only spot she could reach on her tiptoes without pulling him down to her level.

_ Tiny, _ Lorcan thought.  _ Very, very tiny. _

She backed up and looked at him. The loss of where her body had been only a moment before left him feeling like he’d been caught in an ice storm. He ached for that warmth to return, that soft, delicate warmth. Wanted it all over him. 

_ Shit. _

He looked down at the girl––no ,  _ not _ a girl. Not by the way the revealing cut of that silken nightgown was hugging her full breast. Not by the way the deep, soft crevice between those breasts was cleaved in shadow in the dim light. Not by the way those generous handfuls hung loose beneath the silk of her nightgown, gently touching one another. Where he,  _ too _ , wanted to gently touch. The smoothness of her skin. The soft  _ un _ marked flesh––

Lorcan swallowed hard and tore his eyes away from Elide’s breasts to meet her eyes.

“I want you, Lorcan, but I understand if you’ve changed your mind.” 

He stared at her. Letting her see the way he studied her. He made a show of leaning in and scenting her. She blushed, and her fear and arousal flooded the air so thick Lorcan thought he’d go mad from not touching her. But he didn’t. Not yet.

“First,” he said. “There is nothing you could ever do to make me change my mind about wanting you, Elide Lochan.” He watched her relax. Watched as her breathing sped up ever so slightly. “Second, don’t ever think that I would not love and cherish every mark, scar and blemish on your skin no matter who left it there, or how.”

“And if I wanted to be rid of the scars I didn’t see fit to keep, would you protest?” she said. Lorcan shook his head.

“Your body is yours to do with what you want.” He raked his eyes down that body to the beautiful, mangled ankle Elide hadn’t bothered to have the healer look at. He took a long while dragging his eyes back up.

“And what of your body, Lorcan? Is it yours to command?” She swallowed hard and looked him over. He tried not to lean back to let her take in more of him.

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “My body belongs to a small, beautiful, fierce woman who stole my heart with one look from across a river in Oakwald.”

Elide took a step backward–toward the bed–and said, “It sounds like this woman has put quite a spell on you.”

Lorcan matched her step, “You have no idea. They say she might even have witches blood in her.”

She took another step back. “Oh? And what do you think?”

Lorcan took a too large step forward, closing the space between them. “I think she is one of a kind. Part silver, part gold, and wise beyond her years.” He ran his hands down her sides, over the dusty rose color of the silk. He leaned forward and claimed her mouth as she arched into him.

She tasted like sugar and woman and twilight. He gently parted her lips with his and allowed her tongue and teeth to tease and taste him before he did the same. Slowly, so slowly he began to set the pace. Scared he might frighten her. Scared he might do something to set her off as his hands massaged gentle circles over those glorious hips.

Lorcan must have lost himself to her kiss because the next thing he knew, she was elbows deep in his shirt, and then it was on the ground.

He growled at the hungry look in her eyes as she took in his bare chest. Well muscled and with a hint of dark hair. She ran her hands over his top half. Memorizing every harden curve of muscle and flesh. Every scar.

Lorcan felt her fingers graze a particularly brutal one on his lower back, and just like that, her scent changed. She shuddered slightly. He held her close, refusing to let her pull away.

“What?” Lorcan breathed into her hair.

“I want you to touch me,” Elide said. It took every ounce of restraint Lorcan had not to pounce at those words, but then she said, “But I don’t know what to do.  What  _ I’d _ do if you saw something you didn’t like.” Fear flooded her scent, and Lorcan realized just how vulnerable his Elide was. They’d come close to this kind of intimacy only once before, and the only male she’d ever been with had brutally fucked her with no regard for her wants or needs.

It took all the effort he had not to let his anger at _that_ male ruin this moment. _That_ male had already ruined so many of their moments, and Lorcan would be damned if he let the memory of that piece of shit ruin anymore.

In a fluid motion, Lorcan picked Elide up and moved to the bed. He sat on the end and positioned her to straddle his waist. She rested her hands on his shoulders.

“There is not one inch of you that I do not find appealing, that I do not love with everything I am. There is not one freckle, or scar, or piece of flesh on your body that I would not give my life to spend eternity looking at.” He kissed her, gently. “You are perfect, Elide Lochan. And because you slept with someone who made you feel less than perfect, I’ve decided to spend the rest of the night worshipping you in the ways in which you deserve. If you want that.  _ Only _ if you want that.”

Elide’s body went taut and loose in all the right places. But not because she was straddling the lap of the largest and most muscled fae male she’d ever beheld–Lorcan had just said he loved her.

She cocked her head to the side. Her insecurities be damned. He’d just–

“Say it again,” she breathed. And he knew, the look on his face told her he realized what had just slipped from his mouth.

“There is not one part of you that I do not love, Elide Lochan. It’s been that way for a long time.” Now he was the one who looked unsure. “Do not feel pressured to–”

“Yes,” Elide said, grabbing his face to force him to look at her. “Yes. It has been that way for a very long time. I love you, Lorcan.” He froze in her hands, and looked as if he’d never heard anyone say such a thing to him in all his life. Something inside Elide broke. He’d spent too long in the darkness. Lived too many lives not knowing how or what love was. She knew that feeling, had spent many years with it. But he was so very old, too old to have gone this long without it. She kissed him.

They kissed one another. Felt one another. 

Hands found hips and skin and hair, as tongues and teeth found mouths and necks and skin. And then Lorcan’s hand roved up her thighs and around to grasp her backside. 

Lorcan had never held anything more thick and soft in all his life. He growled into Elide’s mouth when she responded by grinding her hips into his.

“I seem to remember a declaration of worship,” Elide gasped between kisses.

Lorcan’s hands released her backside and came to gift the underside of her breasts with long sweeping strokes. She arched away from him allowing better access to both her breasts and neck.

Lorcan was going to take his time. Going to take this woman through every step that led up to sex. All the things he might have given her slowly, over weeks and maybe months, had they the time–to make sure she didn’t miss out on any of it.

He paused. “If you want me to stop, you have only to say the word.” She understood why he needed to say it. Understood why she needed to meet his eyes when she told him she understood, and that she wanted him to continue. He did.

He kissed and licked the column of her throat as he brought his hands up to drag the thin straps of her nightgown down. She’d never been bare to a man before, not like this anyways. The hours she’d spent with _that_ male had been brutal and painful and there were days when she’d thought she’d never want another to see or touch her like this.

But she did not regret what she did, or what had been done to her. It had been her choice, and in the weeks that passed she’d decided she wasn’t going to let that one experience dictate the rest of them. She wanted this, with Lorcan. Wanted him to see her bared to him, and him to her. 

It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

His dark eyes never left hers when he slipped those silk straps off her shoulders and rolled his thumbs around her nipples. Slowly, so torturously slow. Smaller and smaller his circles became until his thumbs rolled over her hardened nipples. He removed his hands until all that touched her breasts were his thumbs. He gently pressed them into her nipples, into her breasts. Her head tilted back and her eyes closed as a moan escaped her lips.

He leaned forward and tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth until her head was forward enough for him to claim a proper kiss. She kissed him hungrily. Each stroke of her tongue demanding more, more, more.

He returned the rest of his hands to her breasts and drew larger and larger circles away from her nipples. Then gently, but firmly, grasped her breasts in his large, calloused hands.

She moaned and rocked her hips into his.

“Elide,” he said, pulling away from her mouth to look her in the eye. “Has anyone ever kissed your breasts before?”

Liquid heat pooled between her thighs and she found herself powerless to prevent the whimper that left her mouth.

She shook her head no, and the look in Lorcan’s eyes smoldered. She watched as he licked his lips and turned his full attention to her breasts. He leaned her back and sucked a nipple in his mouth. The whole world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on her. The pull of his lips, his teeth, and his tongue as he lavished her with strokes and nips and sucks.

Lorcan released her breast only to blow on it, cooling the saliva left there and further hardening her nipple.

Lorcan knew what he was doing. He took his time working her breasts with his mouth and hands, savoring every little sound that escaped her.  

_ That’s it, _ he thought.  _ Sing for me. _

And when Elide Lochan though he had done his worst, she felt those wicked hands draw tiny circles up the insides of her thighs. Higher and higher and higher until they stopped just shy of where she wanted them. 

“Please,” she whispered into his mouth as she tightened her hands in his dark hair.  _ This is torture _ , Elide thought.  _ Lorcan’s worship is torture. _

He gave her a wicked grin as if he could read her mind. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, and Elide decided two could play this game. 

“Please,” Elide whispered again, leaning forward and pressing her breasts into his bare chest. She ground her hips into the hard, wanting flesh pressing against his trousers. He groaned and bit her bottom lip. “Touch me, Lorcan.  _ Please _ , I want you to touch me.” 

This woman would be the death of him, and he knew it. He gods-damned new it. 

He dipped the tips of his fingers beneath the delicate lace of her undergarments. She whimpered when that was all he gave her.

“Elide,” he said, drawing his mouth close to her ear and nipping the lobe. “Have you ever come before?” He smelt the thin tang of embarrassment pierce the flood of arousal that permeated the room. He smiled to himself.

“Yes,” she said, rocking her hips as if she could get those fingers to go exactly where she wanted.

“By yourself?”

“Yes.” The scent of her embarrassment vanished. “I thought about you,” Elide said, rubbing her chest to his, her hips to his–impressed by the sheer amount of restrain Lorcan was showing. She tried again, “When I touched myself, I thought about you.”

Lorcan’s restraint snapped. He pushed that damp piece of undergarment to the side and stroked his fingers through the swollen flesh of her. He growled at how ready she was. At how much she wanted him. She rocked her hips to meet his strokes.

“Please,” she begged, wanting him inside her. He obliged.

The world stopped. Narrowed to the feel of his finger as it dipped into her flesh. His thumb grazed the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs just as he sunk that finger to knuckle. She groaned and gasped and rocked those glorious hips against him, finding her pleasure. He braced her with his free hand on her back. His mouth found hers, and she bit and sucked at him as his thumb rolled gentle circles over her sensitive bud. His finger plunged in and out and in and out.

Deep and shallow and curving and straight.

Her hips kept time with his rhythms, and she came with her breasts against his chest and her teeth in his shoulder. The sound she made–that _he_ made her make–was unlike anything he’d heard in all his life, and if he could have bottled it, he’d drink till drunk every night.

She trembled from head to toe when it was over. She opened her eyes and leaned her forehead into his shoulder. She didn’t know how to look at him after … whatever that was.

Lorcan licked her taste from his fingers, and held the tiny woman in his arms. He would hold her like this until she was ready to face him. He didn’t need reminding that his was her first time coming with another, the first time  _ really _ being touched by a male. 

Vulnerable. Whether she admitted it or not, there was vulnerability for females–for everyone– in these moments, these firsts. He was honored to share them with her. To show her what a real lover could do– _ should do _ –for their partner.

“Look at me,” Lorcan whispered.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I’ve never…” she sighed and leaned back, pulling her nightgown to cover her breasts. “I’ve never made those sounds for anyone,” she said. Lorcan’s magic flared at those words and he gave a low, possessive male growl. “No one's ever made me feel that way.”

“Do you regret it?” he asked. Careful, such careful words.

“No. Do you?” A quiet, quiet question.

“Never.” Lorcan held firm to the woman in his arms and gave her a possessive kiss. Her arousal flared, and he moved to lay her out on the bed beneath him.

He let her keep the nightgown pulled up over her breasts. He’d remove it soon enough, but he wanted to wait. Wait until she was so drunk off his kissed that she forgot her embarrassment, forgot she was anything but feeling.

Elide knew feeling embarrassed was stupid, that everything they’d done, and were doing, was normal. Her reaction had been normal. But there had never been anyone else in the room when she’d found her pleasure, never been anyone else to give her pleasure. That was what had made her feel embarrassed, vulnerable. Lorcan had been there to witness her most private moment. Hell, he’d done more than just witness it, he’d caused it. 

And that….that was a stupid thing to be embarrassed about. She’d wanted this, wanted him. If he wanted to see and touch her half as badly as she wanted to see and touch him, then he was just as vulnerable as she was. And so she forgot she was anything but feeling and wanting, and she pulled that nightgown back down.

Lorcan’s tongue stroked lazy circles inside her mouth, as Elide slipped her hands down his sides to hook her thumbs into the waistband of his trousers. 

He smiled into her mouth.

“I want to touch you,” she whispered. He shifted his weight to oblige her and guided one of her hands to the hard evidence of his wanting her. She gently grasped him through the fabric of his pants, and he moved her hand up and down–showing her what he liked. He ground into her hand, a groan leaving his lips.

“Do you like that?” she whispered. He braced his elbow beside her head, and nipped at her exposed neck. A stupid question.

“I like everything you do to me,” he said. Then paused, “Except when you ignore me.” Elide chuckled, and moved her hand to the buttons of his pants. She popped one, two–he grabbed her hand.

“I want to touch you,” she said again, and holy Hellas this woman had him. Had him so fully he would have gone to war for her if she’d asked him. Would have danced naked in a room full of strangers. This, this was power, and she had it, and he had given it to her. He was hers to command.

He undid the rest of the buttons and eased himself from his trousers. Elide licked her lips. He guided her hand back to him and wrapped it around his cock. Her hand was shaking slightly. He knew she’d never done anything like this before.

“You don’t have to,” he said, kissing the hollow of her neck, to distract himself from the smooth, warmth of her delicate hand.

“I want to. Show me,” she breathed, and he understood. Lorcan wrapped his hand around hers, and he moved so that she stroked him from root to tip. He was smooth and hard and huge in her small hand. Elide’s fingertips couldn’t even touch when she stroked near the base of him, and only barely near the head. He shuddered above her and sucked in a nipple like the juice from a strawberry.

She liked him this way. On top of her. Trembling and wanting and completely at her mercy. This was power, she thought. True power. He would have done anything she asked him to do in this moment to get what he truly wanted from her, what she truly wanted from him. So she asked.

With her free hand, she lifted his head from where he was nipping a breast and said, “Show me what you do with the women you love, who love you.” A smile so bright it reached past his dark, lust addled eyes broke across his face.

“I have never loved a woman until you, Elide Lochan. I have never allowed a woman to love me until you, so I have no knowledge of what to do with you. But I’d like to find out, with you.”

And something snapped. Snapped so hard in Elide’s chest, she knew it was broken before she felt the tears. The tears she felt on her own face, she saw mirrored on Lorcan’s. He’d felt it too, that snap, that break–and no. It hadn’t been a break at all, but a mending. The collision between two pieces rend apart so long ago, but that had somehow found one another, through space and time. Two halves once again made whole.

“Lor...Lory, what was that?” Elide said, voice thick with tears. She was shaking, violently shaking as she grabbed his shoulders.

“Im–im...” He shook his head, but he knew. Knew what this was, what they’d both just felt and– “Impossible,” he breathed. He stared down at Elide, trembling. He just kept saying the word over and over and over as their hands found one another’s faces. Each wiped the others tears, searched the others eyes. “I never thought,” he began, “I never thought...I’ve done, I don’t...I don’t deserve this, you.”

“You’re mine,” Elide said, sobbing openly. 

“I am,” he said, wiping his own tears from where they dripped down onto her face.

“And I’m yours.”

“Yes, you’re mine, “ he said. “You were mine from the moment the universe was made. I was yours. I was always yours.” He kissed her. His mate. His Elide. And she kissed him.

A new kind of passion roiled in her belly, and her body woke to the feel of him atop her, the feel of his hard male flesh pressed and dripping against her belly. His scent, like burnt cinnamon, nighttime, and male. It filled her, heated her blood, riled parts of her she never knew existed. Their kissing turned more desperate, more rabid, as if they couldn’t get enough of one another, as if they’d never get enough of one another. She knew he felt it, too.

He ripped that nightgown up over her head like his life depended on it. Took her body in like his life depended on it. Ran a hand between her spread legs, over the silk of her undergarments, like his life depended on it. She bucked her hips like her life depended on it so he could remove that last piece of silk.

Kneeling back he paused to drink in the sight of her. Her bare flesh, pale in the dim light, tiny beneath his body, and spread and dripping with want for him.

“Lory, please,” she begged. Lory,  _ fuck _ he liked the sound of that. Like the sound and sight of her hands fisting in the sheets beneath her, her body writhing with want. All vulnerability gone, any hint of embarrassment at a male seeing the flesh between her legs, hearing the sounds she made when she came, seeing the face she made when she came–gone. 

Gone. Gone. Gone.

He ached to get her in his mouth.

Lorcan slid his hands behind her knees and gently spread her legs as wide as they’d go as he dipped to get his first real taste of her. His mate.

She tasted like sugar and woman and twilight. Smelt like paradise. Like a gift from the gods-damned universe that he did not deserve. He licked the wetness dripping from the place he planned on becoming very,  _ very _ acquainted with, sunk and curled his tongue into that same spot. She practically jumped off the bed.

He needed to slow down. Needed to give her time to savor this, experience this.  _ This is her first time _ , he thought,  _ slow the fuck down.  _

He did.

He released his hold on her thighs and kissed the outermost of the lips between her legs. Then, using his hands, he spread them to reveal the soft, swollen flesh between. The tiny bundle of nerves that would be her undoing. He licked up once. Not hard, but enough to let her know where he was. Then he drew back and gently blew, cooling the saliva he’d left there.

She gasped and moaned and said, “Oh, gods.” Lorcan smiled to himself.

“You know, they say women have several sets of lips for kissing,” he watched as liquid heat dripped from her core, “but I’ve always found that some sets taste better than others.”

He sucked the swollen bundle of nerves into his mouth. He nibbled and tongued that swollen bud like it was her actual mouth. Her legs shook and wiggled next to his head as if her body didn’t know what to do with the pleasure it felt. He looked up. Just past her quivering breasts he saw that she was biting her bottom lip, looking back and forth between the ceiling and what he was doing to her.

Elide Lochan thought she was going to pass out.

Bright spots appeared at the edges of her vision as the whole world narrowed to the feel of her mates mouth on her most sensitive part. She was nothing and everything all at once. Darkness and light, and every gods-damned thing in between. She was not a body, not a person, she was a gods-damned feeling and– _ oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck _ –he’d placed not one, but two fingers inside her.

“Oh gods. Lory, oh gods,” she moaned. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as he worked her with his mouth and hands.  _ His tongue, gods, what was he was doing with his tongue?  _ She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air in deep enough, fast enough. Pleasure rose, vision blurred, back arched–and then she could see it, that beautiful, golden shimmering edge. Closer and closer and closer and–she went over.

She was going to die. 

If this was how he treated the woman he loved, what he did to show his affection, then she was going to die. Blissfully and utterly naked.

“Breathe,” he whispered from somewhere near her ear. She opened her eyes. He was stroking her face, pushing the hair back from her brow. She grabbed his wrist as he kissed her forehead. “Just breathe.” He demonstrated inhaling through his nose and slowly exhaling through his mouth. She mimicked him as dizziness faded, and spots and blurs cleared from the dark edges of her vision.

“What happened?” she said. He rubbed his forehead against hers. He now lay at her side, both under the blanket.

“You fainted,” he said, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“Oh gods.” She cringed.

“Was the last thing you said before you blacked out.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, burying her face in his neck.

Lorcan snorted. “Why? I’m certainly not. I’ve never had a woman pass out on me before.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just–very flattering.” And that was the truth. She might be a quiet comer, but she’d certainly enjoyed it. And if there was one thing that rivaled a fae male’s instinct to protect, it was the instinct to bring pleasure to their mates, to keep them happy. They’d only been mated for a few minutes, but Lorcan was pretty sure he’d just proven himself to be worthy in that regard.

Elide pulled back and dug her nails into his chest, and new horror settling into her stomach. “Oh gods, do you think they heard?” She looked so cute, Lorcan found it hard not to laugh. She hit him. “It’s not funny. They all heard me, didn’t they?”

“It’s hard not to hear.” He was obviously enjoying this. She was going to murder him. “No one is going to say anything to you about blacking out.”

“Fainted. I fainted.”

“Semantics.” Elide covered her face, red with embarrassment. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not loud when you come. You’re actually quite quiet. Unlike some women on board.” Lorcan looked up at the ceiling as if he could see through the wood to the captain’s quarters above.

Oddly enough, that did make Elide feel better. “Has she ever passed out?” she said.

“I don’t make a habit out of listening, but, no, not that I’ve heard. Ely, don’t worry. No one is going to say anything to you.”

She cocked her head to the side, “But they’ll say something about it to you, won’t they? Oh my gods, you’re enjoying this!” She fumed, sitting up and pushing him back onto the bed. She straddled him and made a show of crossing her arms over her breasts.

“Only a little,” he said. “Don’t worry. Rowan and Gavriel would never say anything to me or anyone about it. _If_ they happened to be paying attention, which I doubt. Fenrys, on the other hand…”

“If Fenrys so much a breathes a wor–” Elide stopped when she saw Lorcan clamp down on some primal instinct that suddenly flared. “What?” she said.

He waited a moment to regain himself. Then he very calmly said,  “I don’t think I like the sound of another male’s name on _my_ mates lips when she’s naked and astride me.” 

Just like that Elide forgot what they were talking about. Forgot what she’d been so worried about. Her breathing became ragged. Lorcan reached up and slowly uncrossed her arms from where they’d been keeping his eyes from her breasts.

She watched his eyes devour her exposed chest and then make their way down to where her womanhood was pressed against his abdomen. She could feel it, his eyes on her, like a touch.

She felt herself drip onto his skin. He growled in satisfaction at her newfound wetness and moved his hips to tap his ready cock against her backside.

She moved, raising herself up enough to settle over him and take him in–but Lorcan moved. So fast she barely registered the movement, then she was lying beneath him, legs parted, waiting.

“Please,” she begged, biting her bottom lip at the sight of their bodies lined up. She bucked her hips and felt the smooth, wide head of him touch her wetness. She groaned, this was agony, waiting for him was agony.

He slid a finger inside her. He needed to make sure she was ready. Fuck, she was tight. Pink and wet and tight. She moaned for him and he worked her open, back to that lust addled state where pleasure and pain could be one in the same.

He knew _that_ fae male hadn’t been nice to her, hadn’t done anything to keep her wet enough for her to find pleasure in the thrusts he’d inflicted. No, her flesh had torn and bled and bruised and she’d likely faked her pleasure and endured his fuck to get the information she’d needed to save her queen.

He would do no such thing.

He would have her moaning and writhing in pleasure until she forgot her own name, until all that she remembered was his, and then they would come together. He would come with his mate. His queen.

“Elide,” he breathed, removing his fingers and rubbing the length of him between her folds. He felt so thick and smooth against her. His mouth found hers and they kissed deeply of one another. Her tiny hand found his cock and she tried desperatly to guide him into her–but Lorcan wouldn’t allow her. “Elide,” he said again. 

She hummed a response.

“If you want me to stop, you’ve only to say the word. If you want me to slow down or speed up or wait for you, you’ve only to tell me,” he said.

She met his eyes and nodded. “I know. I know you won’t hurt me on purpose, and I know it might still hurt. I trust you.” She kissed him, and that bond between them went from being a tiny golden thread, to a thick steel chain, a gilded bridge with which they could walk between one another’s souls. She trusted him, and he would not ever betray that trust.

He pulled back slightly and grabbed himself, watching her face the whole time he lined up his body with hers. Watched the lust in her eyes scream in want when all he did was circle his smooth head around her opening and then lull in delight when he sunk in the head. She was tight and wet and warm.

_ I could die from this _ , Lorcan thought, _ from loving this woman. _

She kept her eyes on him, arms around his neck as she got her first true taste of him. He was hard and smooth and wide, and slowly, so slowly, he sank deeper.

And deeper. 

And deeper. 

And deeper.

Pain. 

She winced in his arms, and he froze. He was maybe an inch from being fully seated inside her.

“Just–gimme a second,” she said. He’d give her all the time in the world. He leaned forward and kissed her left cheek, then the right. He could smell her fear and pain in the air.

“Relax your body,” he said, kissing her lip. “I’ve got you.” She whimpered and opened her mouth to him. He kissed her long and deep and slow. He gently leaned to the side and raised a hand to work a breast. He molded it in his hand, starting wide and then smaller, smaller, smaller until he was rolling her nipple between his fingers. He felt her wetness return, smelt her arousal return, but he waited. For her.

Elide’s pain subsided, but she still thought it might hurt if he moved. She wanted to give herself enough time to adjust. She knew Lorcan would wait for eternity for her to be ready.

He rolled her nipple in his fingers, and she felt herself arching off the bed. His kisses her slow and deep, but something was missing. She wanted something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She sucked on his tongue, pushing hers deeper into his mouth. He growled into their shared breath.

Elide bucked her hips and Lorcan slid in the rest of the way until he was fully sheathed inside her. Inside her. He was inside her.

Her breath came quicker now. He felt large and thick and so very hard inside her. Gods, he was inside her. She wanted him to move, and when she whimpered a “please” and bucked her hips, he did just that. Slowly at first. Eyes on her face so that he was ready to stop at the first sign she felt anything but pleasure.

When she didn’t, he sped up. He pulled himself from her more than halfway then pushed back in fully. She moaned his name beneath him. He answered with a growl of satisfaction, and filled her once again with him. He removed his hand from her breast and trailed it lower until his thumb found that tiny bundle of nerves between her legs. He barely grazed it, and she gasped. Practically rose off the bed to meet him. Her legs were hooked around his hips, and Lorcan thought he wouldn’t mind if they stayed there forever.

He moved within her in long sweeping strokes, dragging out her pleasure, finding what she liked, what she didn’t. By the looks of it, she liked everything he was doing to her, but there were some motions that elicited a stronger response. He hit those motions every third stroke at first, then every fifth or every other–mixing it up to keep her body guessing.

Being inside her was paradise. She felt like paradise, fit together like paradise. Looked and smelt like it, too. She was his, and he was doing this to her. The look on her face, his fault. The sound she just made, his fault. The movement of her body, also his fault.

She threw her head back, taking her mouth from his. 

“Oh gods, Lory,” she gasped.

“Ely,” he breathed into the skin of her neck, over and over and over again.

“Bite me,” she whispered. He didn’t need her to tell him twice. Didn’t need her to say why she needed him to mark her as his, to _unmark_ her as anyone else’s. 

She’d already bitten him earlier in the evening, but still he said, “Only if you bite me.” She hummed a response, and on his next deep thrust, Lorcan gentle bit into the soft flesh where her neck and shoulder met. Her moan of pleasure almost undid him.

He licked over where he’d broken the skin.  _ Mine _ , he thought. 

He reached up and brought her face back to his and claimed her mouth as he thrust deep. Again she sucked his lips and tongue into her mouth as if looking for something she couldn’t find. A second later, Lorcan broke the kiss and pushed a finger past her lips.

Elide’s eyes went wide when she felt Lorcan’s finger in her mouth. She could taste herself on it, but then she lost herself to it. Sucking and biting in time with his thrusts between her legs. What she’d been looking for but hadn’t been able to find in his mouth. The feeling of him being inside her in two places, filling her in two places. She sailed toward that golden edge.

Gods, how could one male hold so much power over her?

He moved deeper, faster within her, as if he were now chasing his own pleasure. Her hands found his rear, and she gave him a firm squeeze and then pushed him deeper with each thrust. She didn’t want him to be gentle gods she just wanted him to–

“Fuck me, Lorcan. Oh god, just fuck me.”

Lorcan didn’t need to be told twice.

He sat back, braced both hands behind her knees, and gave his woman what she asked for. The sight of her stripped, wanting, and naked beneath his thrusts almost undid him. Almost. He had more control than to come before his woman found her pleasure.

“Breathe,” he said, between his own groaning.

She was trying. But when she’d looked up at saw Lorcan–in all his muscled, sweaty glory–raking his eyes down her body to stare at the place they were joined, as he thrust deeper and held her thighs fully open to him, and only him, it was her undoing. 

Her body raced toward that cliff’s edge and she didn’t care. Didn’t care that she couldn’t breath, that she couldn’t remember who or what she was–all she could think about was her mate’s cock inside her, thrusting into her hard, long, and deep.  _ Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck _ –

Lorcan released her legs as he felt her muscles contract and squeeze, milking his cock, he knew she was about to come, knew he was, too. He leaned over her, never breaking his rhythm, as they gathered one another in their arms.

“Lory,” she whimpered into his mouth. “My Lory. Mine.”

“Ely,” he said. “My Ely.”

She whined beneath him too lost in her own mounting pleasure to be able to think enough to kiss him. 

“Come for me, Elide,” he whispered into her ear. 

And she did.

Hard and fast and with only his name on her lips, and her teeth piercing that finger he’d placed back in her mouth.  _ It would scar like a ring _ , he thought. And as Elide crashed over that cliff, she brought Lorcan with her.

 

***

 

Somewhere high above the lovebirds, Fenrys was perched in the rigging. He was considering throwing himself into the ocean to escape the noise from below deck. Like hell he wasn’t going to bring up the fact that Elide had passed out. He’d already planned several ways to get the most out of their embarrassment.

He sighed heavily. If he threw himself into the ocean, he’d never be able to taunt them. He’d also never be able to call Lorcan “Lory” to his face. Death could wait.

He looked for the dark shadow of a midnight wyvern against the starry night sky, but found nothing. It didn’t matter anyways. He wasn’t interested in Briar.

He looked in the direction of the coastline, wishing dawn weren’t so far off so that the beautiful, wild blonde haired witch might return.

Gavriel had been right, he did have a thing for blondes.

He bristled, then smiled. In less than seven hours the sun would begin to rise and Asterin would be on her way back to trade shifts with Briar.

He could wait.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm PropShopHannah on tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm PropShopHannah on tumblr.


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